


Bed awaits me at the end

by adreadfulidea



Category: Mad Men
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-26
Updated: 2014-06-26
Packaged: 2018-02-06 07:00:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1848778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adreadfulidea/pseuds/adreadfulidea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For a prompt on tumblr from the fandom cliches meme - forced to share a bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bed awaits me at the end

**Author's Note:**

  * For [orangesparks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orangesparks/gifts).



> Title is from a Dorothy Parker poem. And for those wondering, the headquarters for Coca-Cola are in Atlanta, Georgia.

It started with a booking mistake.

The hotel wasn’t so great to begin with, or at least Peggy and Stan didn’t seem to think so. Ginsberg, he would lay his head down any old place. The question was if he would have somewhere to do it.

“Check again,” Peggy said, tapping her fingers on the counter. The lady at reception did as she was told, under the weight of Peggy’s white-hot glare, but that didn’t change the answer.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “There’s only one room booked - a single. And we don’t have any vacancies. There’s a convention in town.”

“Of course there is,” Peggy sighed. She turned to Stan and Ginsberg. “Do you want to risk trying somewhere else, or do you want to share?”

They decided to share. Stan and Peggy would take the bed and Ginsberg would bunk down on the couch, which they were assured was part of the room. “We try to make our suites as home-like as possible,” the front desk lady said.

 

There was a couch. Ginsberg was not going to be sleeping on it, because the moment he sat down it collapsed under his weight. Dropped him right on his ass.

“This is bullshit,” Peggy said as Stan helped him up from the floor. “What a _dump_.”

Three calls downstairs and still no answer. Peggy slammed the phone down in anger. “I’m going to kill whoever picked this hellhole. Did they do no research at all?”

“It’s fine,” Ginsberg said. “I’ll sleep in the bathtub. Or on the floor. You’re doing all the talking tomorrow, anyway.” He didn’t see why he couldn’t help out, but whatever. Peggy’s pitch, Peggy’s rules.

“Calm down, Oliver Twist,” said Stan. “You’re not going to sleep on the floor. You can just get in the bed with us.”

Ginsberg looked at Peggy. Peggy looked at Stan.

“What?” he said. “We’re all adults here.”

“Dickens was an anti-semite,” said Ginsberg. “Did you know that?”

“I changed my mind,” said Stan. “Enjoy the bathtub.”

 

But Stan didn’t follow through on his threat. They bedded down around ten, the late summer sky more deep blue than black, and dotted with stars. The window was open and Ginsberg thought he could smell the encroaching autumn on the breeze.

He was awake for at least an hour, lying on his back and counting sheep. It was distracting, being in bed with someone. Stan had nodded off right away and Peggy was so quiet that he assumed she had as well.

Until she spoke, that is. “I can hear you thinking,” she said. “Go to sleep. You need to be fresh as a daisy for tomorrow.”

“I’m nervous,” he admitted. “I know Sprite isn’t the flagship product -”

“But any Coke product is a big deal,” she finished for him in a whisper. “I know.”

“And they want to compete with 7-Up, so that’s some big money right there.”

“Forget about the numbers,” she instructed. “Leave that to Lane and Joan.”

“I don’t know what I’m worrying about,” he said. “My part is done already.”

“No,” said Peggy. “Your part is giving me moral support. I’ve never gone solo on an account this big before.”

“Kinda surprised Don didn’t come along.”

“I’m glad,” Peggy said, smiling widely in the darkness. Her eyes were very beautiful up close.

“So am I.” He had the strangest urge to kiss her, but wasn’t stupid enough to give in to it. Instead he rolled over, his back to her. “‘Night,” he said, and let sleep claim him.

 

“That went well,” Ginsberg said. “I mean that I think it did. It did, right?”

Peggy laughed. “As far as I can tell,” she said, gesturing with her wineglass. “But who knows. Clients are so unpredictable.”

They were in a bar a couple blocks away from the hotel. It was pretty swanky, and maybe their celebration was premature, but - fuck it. They were allowed to be happy.

Stan had wandered off; now he came back with a pretty girl in tow. She had reddish blonde hair pinned half up and freckles across her nose. A flicker of something unpleasant crossed Peggy’s face. Just for a second, and then it was gone.

“Violet, these are my friends - Peggy Olson and Michael Ginsberg.”

Violet extended her hand to Ginsberg. “Hi, Michael. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Uh,” he said, ever a fountain of witty conversation. “Me too?”

Violet sat down next to him. “I could use a drink,” she said pointedly, and smiled at him. She had a cute accent. Everyone did, down here.

“Oh,” he said. “Yeah, of course. Hold on a minute.” Was he supposed to go up to the bartender, or flag down the waitress?

“Peggy,” said Stan, “How about we give these kids some time to get to know each other?”

Peggy grinned. “Sure,” she said, and then moved in close so Violet couldn’t hear. “We won’t wait up.”

Ginsberg laughed, sort of - it was more anxiety than anything. He wanted to say something to her but didn’t know what, and then it didn’t matter - because Stan was whisking her away, their hands joined.

 

He passed a maid in the hallway, but that was all. It was getting late - people were either in their rooms asleep or gone out for the evening. He wondered if Peggy and Stan had come back yet.

There was one of those “do not disturb” signs hanging from the doorknob and that should have been his first clue. He skipped right past it - no detective, he - and threw the door open.

They were on the bed, half undressed. Stan wasn’t wearing a shirt and Peggy was in her bra, one strap sliding down her shoulder. He had his hands up her skirt. They had been kissing; now they pulled apart and stared at him, frozen in place.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he said, and darted out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

He stood in the hallway, hand still on the doorknob. The maid went past with her little cart.

He had nowhere to go. But he had to - he had to give them some fucking privacy. Maybe he would just go explore the city for a couple of hours. Or would they need all night? He didn’t know. This never would have happened if he had gone home with Violet like she’d wanted. If he had been _normal_ for once.

The door opened. Stan had a shirt on again, and an expression that was damn near amused. “Alright,” he said. “What happened?”

Ginsberg cringed. He felt like the biggest loser on earth. “... I don’t _know_ her.”

“Come on,” Stan said, putting an arm around his shoulders. “Let’s go raid the mini-bar.”

Peggy had also gotten dressed but her blouse wasn’t buttoned up all the way. He could see the lacy edges of her bra when she leaned forward to get a bottle of vodka from the fridge. Panicked and guilty, he tried to look anywhere else and didn’t even hear her talking to him.

“I said,” she repeated, “do you want vodka or bourbon?”

“Bourbon,” he said, though he didn’t like it. As soon as she handed it to him he knocked it back, hoping that liquid courage would turn out to be a literal description.

It wasn’t. Stan turned on the television and then he and Peggy got up on the bed, the bed where they almost had sex -

Okay. He couldn’t take it. There was no way he could sleep next to them tonight. Not without incident. He knew exactly what kind of dreams he was going to be having and he didn’t want an audience.

“I could go,” he babbled. “If you need some time to yourselves. I can make myself scarce, or maybe find my own room. That’s what I’ll do, I should do that -”

“Did it bother you that badly?” Peggy said. “We weren’t _naked_.”

“I wouldn’t care if you were naked. I mean, I would care! Oh, holy shit. What am I saying?” He gave up - talking was just making it worse.

Stan fell back against the headboard, laughing. Peggy swatted at his shoulder. “He’s having a hard time,” she said, “be nice.” But she was giggling herself.

“Have another drink and calm down,” Stan said. He checked his watch. “We’d better hit the hay. Early flight tomorrow.”

He did have another drink, and went to bed with them the same as last night. But it was different now. He couldn’t get comfortable. The way they had looked together - he couldn’t stop thinking about it. Right here, in this bed. Every time he closed his eyes he saw bare skin.

He didn’t realise how much he had been fidgeting until Peggy put her hand on his knee. “Shhh,” she said, next to his ear.

“Are you still freaking out?” Stan asked. He was sitting up in bed, watching the T.V. with the volume down low.

Peggy had her hand on Ginsberg’s leg - she was drawing little patterns on his thigh, just above the knee. It was doing terrible things to him, and he was glad the light was off. “No,” he said, and his voice cracked like it had when he was thirteen and hadn’t hit his growth spurt yet. Insomuch as he ever did.

“I think you just told a lie,” Peggy said. She was looking down at him with sharp eyes, her chin propped up on her hand. There was something predatory about that look.

He still didn’t expect her to look under the goddamned blanket, but that was exactly what she did. Almost innocently, lifting up a corner and peeking under with a kitten’s curiosity. “What the hell,” he snapped, snatching it back from her. It wasn’t _that_ dark.

She smiled widely. “Now I know you did.”

Stan was looking over her shoulder, quietly, like he was waiting for instructions. The T.V. droned on in the background. Ginsberg couldn’t have named the program if his life depended on it.

He hissed out a breath when Peggy touched him, cupping him through his shorts. She traced her fingertips up and down, like she had on his leg, and he groaned out loud. He couldn’t help himself.

“You didn’t know her,” said Stan. “But you know us.”

“Yes,” said Ginsberg, almost before he was finished. “Yes, please -”

Peggy started to duck under the blankets but he stopped her and kissed her like he had been wanting to, winding her soft hair around his fingers. She smiled against his mouth. “I didn’t know you were a romantic, Michael.”

“There are a lot of things you don’t know about me,” he said, and lost the ability to speak entirely when she slid her hand inside his boxers and squeezed.

“I know you liked watching us,” she said, moving down, between his legs. “And I know you’ll like this.”

She sucked on him through the fabric, getting it wet, and he very nearly threw her off. “Stan,” she said, like she was telling him how to mock up an ad, “hold him down, would you?”

Oh my god. Stan pinned his hips down, leaning in close. Ginsberg wanted - he wanted to kiss him, but he didn’t know what was allowed. Where the boundaries were. Stan solved the problem by making the first move. He kissed deep and sweet, and Peggy stopped torturing Ginsberg for a minute to watch.

Then she went back at it, kept going until his underwear was soaked through and he was begging, all half words and nonsense. “Peg - _god_ \- I can’t -”

“Yeah?” she said, rubbing him with the heel of her hand. “You need something else?”

“Anything, _please_.”

“Okay,” she said. “You’ve been good.” She pulled her nightgown over her head. Stan helped her, throwing it on the floor and spreading his hands across her shoulder blades. She smiled and kissed him. So pretty.

Then she lay back on the bed and spread her legs. Ginsberg could see how slick she was, glistening in the flickering light of the television. “Want to fuck me?”

“Jesus Christ, yes.”

Stan guided him into her, one hand on his ass and the other holding his cock loosely. “Go slow until you get used to it, okay?”

He tried to, but Peggy was so hot inside, and so wet - he pushed into her fast. She clawed at his back and whined.

“Yes - uh, good, that’s good -” she panted, wrapping her legs around his waist. “Keep going.”

He did, fucking her so that she slid up the bed with each thrust. She kissed his face blindly, encouraging him. Her cunt clenched around him when he pulled out, when he sank back into her. He couldn’t believe how easily they fit together, and finally he understood why people acted like idiots to get this, to get close to someone, inside of them.

It was overwhelming and he came too quickly, sobbing into the side of her neck, hips pumping. She wasn’t there yet, still trembling with unfulfilled tension.

“Sorry,” he said, kissing her in apology.

“That’s okay.” She huffed out a laugh. “Guess I shouldn’t have teased you, huh?”

Stan slapped him on the ass. “Move over, Flash. I’m going to show you how to fuck her right.”

“Ow,” Ginsberg complained, but moved away from Peggy reluctantly. She climbed into Stan’s lap, her arms around his neck. He raised his hips to meet her and her mouth fell open against his shoulder.

She straddled him while he fucked her with an unhurried rhythm that looked to be driving her crazy. When she asked for more he gave it to her, up against the headboard, rattling it against the wall. She made so much noise that he put his fingers in her mouth to quiet her down. “Shhh, you want the people in the next room to hear? Maybe you do.”

That made her come, eyes squeezing shut. She bit down on his fingers, and he screwed into her a couple more times before slumping over, panting. “God,” he said, blinking rapidly. “You do like showing off.”

“With the right audience,” she said, smiling at Ginsberg.

She sighed when Stan slid free of her and wrinkled her brow when he lowered her onto her back.

“Hey Ginzo,” said Stan, throwing him a wink. “Want to see how many times we can make her come tonight?”

“What?” she said, and shrieked when he put his mouth on her, licking in - fuck, licking both of them _out_ of her. “Ohmygod,” she gasped, one heel scraping down Stan’s back. She looked close to coming again already.

He knelt down next to Stan. Of course he would pitch in. Turnabout was fair play, after all.

 

 


End file.
